Old Faces, New Adventures
by hobocookie
Summary: The Second Wizarding War became a journey to find peace through the haze of destruction. With the war over and The Dark Lord defeated peace was finally found for most wizards and witches. Others were left, scarred severely by the events of each battle, their losses, and their mistakes.
1. Prologue

Old Faces, New Adventures

* * *

The room was engulfed in blue. It was almost like being underwater. The window near the front door revealed patterns dancing across the sky, caused by an odd mixture of rain, wind, and a full moon. The cool air rested calmly in the mountain cabin and the moonlight settled a glow that had one intention, to _sooth_. Despite nature's attempt to calm the current inhabitants of the cottage, restlessness and discomfort wrapped themselves around the two weary travelers.

From the door to the kitchen the cottage was rather small and only one room to boot. Two beds fit snugly in the far right corner of the room, stacked neatly on top of each other, just like a summer camp for children, though the mattresses and frames were a fair size. On the top bunk lay a man in his early twenties, wide awake and tossing himself to the side as if to command sleep to come upon him. Each attempt ended in failure. His thoughts were darting across the walls of his skull, every sound he heard was taken into consideration. He was paranoid. More so than usual.

The blonde man pressed his palms over his eyes, muttering British curses as he began seeing colours. Sweat ran from his brow, down the sides of his face, stopping to collect in the dips and curves of his ear. Sweat covered his sides and arms and legs, white shirt sticking to him uncomfortably.

"Too damn hot." Draco Malfoy muttered to himself, dragging his hands up to clutch his hair. He was beginning to feel sick to his stomach but it did not much matter. The whole Malfoy household had gotten used to being in pain, physical and emotional alike. Part of him wished his family was here to suffer with him. The other part admitted that their separation was for the best.

Draco thought shortly about waking up his traveling partner or taking a stroll in the rain...but he knew he'd only get scolded like a child for not sleeping. He'd rather be bloody hot than tear his own ears off. Thunder roared. It seemed not to be just overhead either, it was all around the cabin, same with the lightning. It surrounded them, begging the Malfoy to come out and surrender. He would not dare. He had too much pride for that.

Again Malfoy tossed, this time keeping his eyes open to stare absentmindedly at their assorted belongings. Wet clothes and shoes were discarded carelessly. Along with heavy winter coats and scarves and hats. Draco could spot his bag under the dinet table, torn and sad compared to its original rich, embroidered state.

The blonde tossed again, this time to clutch his stomach and moan slightly. He reflected upon what he had ate. It was nothing foreign. So why was his stomach giving him so much damned...

Then it clicked.

It clicked and Draco Malfoy felt a sense of panic as he gripped the bedsheets in pain. He whispered the name of his companion. There was no answer. The next time he spoke louder, still nothing. _Great...great time to be a heavy sleeper._

"Granger." his voice remained firm but there was a strain to it.

"Malfoy? What is it?"

The young woman practically jumped out of bed and looked up before climbing the ladder to the top bunk. She sounded uneasy, more than that, disturbed. She knew he rarely called for help and he never cried wolf. When he was in pain something was really wrong.

"What's wrong?!" she pleaded, reaching the top and crawling next to him. Her wand was in hand, ready for anything.

"We made a mistake."

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R&R

Do critique grammar and spelling as well as style structure and overall story.

In-Progress - More chapters to come.


	2. 1: Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes

Chapter 1: Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes

The store itself had a warmness to it in the winter. The seasons brought the customers like they were any other part of nature's plan. Wizards and witches of all ages shuffled from the snowy streets of Diagon Alley into the jubilant, bustling warmth of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. He kept to himself best he could in the crowd, drawing his dark cloak close to his sides. Most everyone ignored him, too caught up in the tricks and trinkets, though there were a few adult eyes glaring mercilessly. Quite used to and rather unintimidated by the silent spells being figuratively shot at the back of his skull, the man made his way behind the counter and out of sight.

The long hallway ended with a stone spiral staircase that wound down a few flights. The stairway was lit dimly by lanterns embedded into the stone. Between each lantern there were paintings of all shapes, sizes, and subjects. Apart from returning a few friendly "Hello again!"s and "Good day to you."s, the man continued on his way to the room where he had been summoned.

He was working for _a Weasley_.

Not a bad job, considering his circumstances_..._but a _blood-traitor_, a redheaded _Weasley_. Not that he minded at all, it was more ironic than anything. Besides, he was in no position to complain. It gave him something to do, something to strive for. He wanted to prove his worth, renew his name, make the best of the second chance (third? fourth? If all the times before the war counted.) he had been given. All of that started with working with a Weasley.

It was not Ronald, thank Merlin, he would never live that one down, nor if it had been his Muggle loving father. No. It was George Weasley. Lonely George, spiteful George, constantly depressed George Weasley. Losing his twin was not the best for the tall Weasley boy and it showed radiantly in his very presence. George was a sickly looking man, eyes never fully open unless cracking a joke, face paler than his kin and posture less than healthy. If he slouched anymore his chair was likely to complain about it. Those were all just the surface of the changed George Weasley, anyway.

Draco Malfoy knew him better than all that.

Draco appeared in the doorway to George's office, known as the Library, looking as sickly pale and tired as his boss, though it suited him more. He could pull off the look while retaining his confidence and smugness whereas George appeared bored and distant.

"You sent for me, sir?" Draco carried a polite and clean tone.

George looked up from whatever book or letter he had been pondering over to greet his employee with cool green eyes. No words came from George nor a nod nor any physical indication of an answer. He simply returned to his read.

Draco Malfoy knew him well.

Malfoy, having heard the message as clear as if it was spoken, stepped into the room. As usual the Library was warm, a drastic change from the chilly hallway and Draco had already rolled up his sleeves in preparation for the transition. Despite the heat the gesture was significant, there were very few people in the wizarding world Malfoy minded exposing the skull and snake on his right arm to. George was one of those few. In addition to his sleeves Malfoy had prepared a small trunk with a few necessary possessions within. Employment with Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had taught Malfoy to be ever-so prepared to be sent off on business trips.

Malfoy continued his small journey across the room not sparing a glance at any of the book covered walls. His gaze was fixed at the portrait smiling and waving behind George. It was a healthier reflection of the Weasley's younger self. At least that is what most would assume. Unfortunately, Draco had the pleasure of understanding the portrait was of the deceased twin Fred rather than George who sat before him.

"Its dangerous, this one." George said gravely. Malfoy looked down at the Weasley to see that he was grinning. The rich, blonde man grinned in return, replying equally as solemnly.

"Is it now? Then I will remind myself to be extra careful."

"That you will. Though, just in case, I am giving you a partner on this one."

George took obvious pleasure of watching Draco's cool demeanor fall apart into shock.

"Partner? Sir, with all due respect, you know I do not work well with partners. Anyone who has any relation with me ends up dead or wanting." Draco sputtered, loosing his smooth stuck up manner and looking somewhat flustered and unstable.

"I have survived thus far." George laughed. "Besides, you know her! It will be grand. She seemed ecstatic too!"

Draco Malfoy doubted his words.

The only person he could imagine would be ecstatic to travel the world with him was his mother and she was hardly in the sort of health that would fit his field of work. The man's silver eyes stared at George, silently urging him to continue now that the Malfoy had gained back his composure.

"You went to school with her." George seemed to be enjoying himself, encouraging the guessing game.

"Sir..." Draco would rather the red-head get to the bloody punch line than put him more on edge.

"She was in your year."

"Sir, please."

"It is highly unlikely for you to have written her a love letter."

"Sir!"

George paused to chuckle before dropping the metaphorical Muggle bomb.

"It's Hermoine Granger." George said brightly.

"You jest, sir." Draco said seriously, shifting to rub his fingers to a suddenly throbbing temple.

"Despite the date, I play no fool in business." Was the reply.

Draco pondered on his mental calendar for the meaning of the statement.

"Ah, happy birthday, sir."

"Thank you, Malfoy. Moving on," George waved away the congratulations of another year in hell, "you will take the train to Hogwarts. There is one running tomorrow evening. You will sit in the compartment you sat in on the way to your sorting. Clear?"

"Clear, sir."

"Communicate with your partner, hold no secrets from her."

"Yes, sir."

"Do try and have fun."

"I will do my best with selected company, sir."

A silence swept over them and George looked down at his book again. Any sane Slytherin left would have exclaimed in the silence that this job would be the death of him. Draco Malfoy believed it might be so. Regardless Draco Malfoy said nothing as he backed his way out of the Library, leaving silently as possible. He watched as George abandoned his book to turn to the portrait of Fred. Draco could barely make out George's voice echo solemnly across the hall behind him as he turned to climb the steps back to the shop.

"Happy Birthday, Fred.


End file.
